And So It Will Continue
by starrily-night
Summary: It's the classic story. Boy meets girl. Buy gradually falls in love with girl even though he is a high functioning sociopath. Suckish title, I know. Review for a good cause. SherlockxIrene. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first ever Sherlock fic. Some of you may know me, especially if you're an NCIS fan. I've seen all the episodes, and I think I've got Sherlock down right, but if I haven't, PM me and I'll be sure to change it next chapter.**

**By the way, this is a series of one-shots in sequential order, they all have to do with each other but they don't talk about the same cases or anything.  
**

* * *

Waking up the day after the explosion, Sherlock had a killer headache and was in a very strange sort of mood.

One thing John noticed was that he remained silent during the discharge process. The Sherlock Holmes John knew would have been raving about the doctor's divorce or something like that. Another thing was that, after he got discharged, Sherlock dialled a number and spoke strange words to whoever was on the other end of the line. Two things were strange- Sherlock never called, he texted, and the words he spoke sounded strangely like he were talking to... a woman. Now that was completely unheard of.

Sherlock snapped his phone shut and stared listlessly out the window.

That night, while John Watson was asleep, Sherlock sneaked out of the apartment and tramped off to the warehouse that... she'd wanted to meet him at. Despite the fact that she hadn't sounded dangerous on the phone, he had his gun tucked casually into his pocket- just in case.

Sherlock waited in the warehouse. Then...

"It's a pleasure." She spoke with a thick American accent, something Sherlock could pick up easily. _Female, late twenties, American._ He heard her heels click on the floor but for some reason, could not determine their height. "Sherlock Holmes."

"No, it's his secretary. Sorry to disappoint you."

The woman stepped into the light. She had mousy brown hair, reminding Sherlock a lot of the old morgue attendant, Molly. Clicking her tongue disapprovingly, she stated, "I thought you'd try something better, something I'd actually have fun trying to figure out." She pouted. "You made it too easy."

"I don't even know who you are." He said smoothly.

She sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, still pouting. "It's unimportant."

"Then whisper it to me." She did so and his expression didn't change. "Why did you text me twice and leave flowers in my hospital room?"

"Because I was worried, Sherlock." She stepped closer. "Can't I be worried about an old friend?"

"And old friend who I don't remember." Her slight smile faltered.

"Sherlock Holmes. We knew each other when we were younger. You'd figure something out about our old teachers and I'd use it against them." She thought a moment. "I always hated your brother." she said coolly.

Now Sherlock had a shred of an idea. Mycroft had dated a girl with her name in high school. He didn't think they were the same girl, however. He brushed the coincidence aside. "But what d you want?"

"I want to work with you." He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, when you get stuck, or need female assistance, you call me and I come running." She gave him a look. "You don't need to give me an answer now. I have all the time in the world." She smiled and clicked away.

Sherlock realised her number was saved in her phone. On the way home, he scribbled it on a scrap of paper.

The next morning, while preparing for work, Sherlock found the bit of paper again. "Watson." he said quickly.

"What now, Sherlock?"

"Take this number and put it in your phone. Call it when you think you need to." Sherlock took his coat and walked downstairs. When Watson looked down, he saw the name, in Sherlock's curly letters.

_Irene Adler._

_

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_**I know it's a pretty tough time around the world, so for every _review_ I get, I'll drop a dime in a collection jar for Japan.**** For every alert/favourite, I'll add a penny. So do both!**_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2! I'm usually a very modest person but I am very proud of this chapter!**

* * *

Three weeks later Sherlock got a tip-off that the murderer was hiding out at a fancy police dress party, planning to strike again. This man had outwitted Sherlock so many times that he needed to go to this party.

So Sherlock pulled his best suit out of his closet and texted for a couple of the fastest policemen to come to the party.

Three hours later and Sherlock was still standing in the room and the murderer was nowhere to be found. Growing tetchy, Sherlock very nearly snapped when someone tapped him on the shoulder. "May I have this dance?"

He knew that voice. He turned to find the owner standing in front of him, in a slinky strapless black dress that came to her knees.

"Of course, darling." He placed a false accent and let Irene lead him into the center of the room. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"John told me you needed my help." She cocked her head slightly. "Or did he do that on his own?"

"I don't need your help." he said, teeth gritted.

"Of course you don't." She smiled. "So that's why you've been standing here for three hours and it's been the guy standing behind you the whole time."

Despite himself, Sherlock turned and Irene laughed at him. "Didn't think you'd actually fall for it." Sherlock realized he'd never heard her actually laugh before. It was the most brilliant thing he'd ever heard. He stared down at her with something like amazement, but she didn't see. "Do you know how to tango?"

"Of course I do." he scoffed. It was true. His brother's group- he, Mycroft, Irene (not Adler, no, it couldn't be), and Mycroft's then girlfriend Alice had won the tango contest at his high school.

"Come on." She dragged him off. Sherlock decided to put on a show.

"No, no, I don't want to tango, dear, why don't we get a drink?"

"Aw, please, honey?" She turned to face him with pleading eyes. "Just one more, I promise. It would make me so happy." Sherlock wasn't sure, but he almost thought she was making Bambi eyes at him.

He sighed. "Fine. One more." She giggled and he allowed her to drag him off. He could feel everyone's eyes on them.

She placed her arms around his neck and they began to dance. Sherlock couldn't shake off the feeling that he'd done this before.

"Don't look know," she hissed, "but your man is right behind you."

He glanced up and caught his eye. Realization dawned over the dancer's face and Sherlock quickly looked away. "Told you not to look." Irene smirked. Sherlock gritted his teeth but said nothing.

The dance ended and everyone cheered. The other male dancer broke away from his partner and ran. Sherlock hesitated a moment too long before running after him. "Lestrade!" A moment later the police detective followed him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Sherlock and Lestrade returned to the party, out of breath and furious. "We lost him again." Sally guessed. "Nice work, Freak." She smirked and walked away.

Irene hurried over to him. "You okay?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"No. We lost him."

"Well, you may have lost the man, but we caught your murderer." Sherlock looked at her in confusion. She sighed. "The man wasn't the murderer. It was his dance partner. He's been leading you away from her. When he saw you, he panicked. She told him to lead you away, figuring she'd escape. I followed her." she added proudly. "She panicked and I chased her right to Scotland Yard." Irene grinned.

"You fooled me." Sherlock said, panting.

She laughed, hard, a laugh that Sherlock would remember for the rest of his days. "It's not hard, Holmes. It isn't hard at all." She kissed his cheek and walked away, still laughing.

* * *

Sherlock returned home that night still confused. "Saw you caught the guy." Watson came out of his room, rubbing a towel in his hair. "You okay?"

Sherlock's phone vibrated. _Until next time. I._

"Yes." He grabbed a nicotine patch.

Watson shrugged. As he retreated into his room, he called, "Did you have a nice night?"

Sherlock touched his cheek lightly. "Yes." he said softly. "Yes, I did."

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**Review and more money to Japan!**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Sherlock, it would have premiered already.**

* * *

For two months following the party, Sherlock called Irene every chance he got. The two would spend twenty minutes examining a crime scene and then would sit on two chairs in the living room for five hours, simply staring at each other. After five hours- though it felt like more- one of them would jump up and run. The other would chase after them.

Lestrade started pulling out cold cases for the two to work on, that's how many cases they could pull off in a day. Watson wasn't upset about this turn of events. It gave him more time to spend at the office or with Sarah instead of chasing criminals.

However, two months later, Watson was walking down the street, hoping to get to Sarah's house in one piece, meaning not running into Scotland Yard. Tonight was an important night for him. He rounded a corner and saw Sherlock jogging very fast.

"What are you doing?" Watson asked.

"Moriarty." There was a mad glint in Sherlock's eye, one that Watson hadn't seen since the explosion.

"Where's Irene?"

"Home, I expect."

"Wha- You're not telling her?"

"This is my fight, Watson.!" Sherlock waved his hand. "Last time I ran into him, it was when you were strapped to a bomb. I'm not jeopardizing the people I care for with that man again."

"You care for Irene?" That Watson didn't expect. Sure, they worked together, but Irene was... well... a woman.

Sherlock didn't answer. "Tell Scotland Yard to call me!" he added over his shoulder. "And tell them to put it on speaker!" Then he turned and headed for Fleet Street.

* * *

Watson flopped down on his girlfriend's couch and sighed. "Drink?" he asked.

"All out, sorry." Sarah came out and sat next to him.

Watson's phone buzzed and he groaned. _Sherlock's trapped in Fleet Street with a bomb. -L_

So much for his brilliant plan for the night.

"Sorry." he muttered. "Gotta go. Sherlock just attracts bombs, I guess."

Sarah laughed. "See you later, John."

* * *

Watson arrived at the crime scene on Fleet Street. Lestrade, Sally, and Anderson were huddled around a phone. Suddenly understanding, John turned towards them. Before he could reach them, he was intercepted my a mousy-looking American.

"When he gets out of there, I'm going to kill him."

"Irene, calm down..."

"Calm down?" Her eyes were alight with fury. "Calm down? I have a larger connection to both men in there than you do." She bit her lip. "I'm worried."

"Sherlock survived the last time he met Moriarty."

"Yeah, 'cause you were there to shove him into the pool right before the bomb went off." Irene scoffed. "He's got no one up there to stop him."

"I'm sure he'll be fine." John tried to reassure her, but she wasn't having it.

"You don't know him the way I do, John Watson! He'll do something stupid, I know it!"

It was at that moment that the apartment complex exploded right above their heads. "Look out!" Lestrade called, just as chunks of brick fell all around John and Irene, and a dark, curly-headed body thudded to the ground beside them.

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**DUH DUH DUUUUUUH! Please note I've never been to London so I have no idea about any of the streets and shit. Review and chapter 4 will come out quicker!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Please excuse any and all cursing, I'm showing emphasis!**

* * *

Irene Adler was fucking pissed.

For one thing, Moriarty had escaped, again, which meant, most likely, he'd be back, with more explosives.

For another thing, she'd run out of ice cream

And then there was the fact that spending too much time in Britain was not good. She had started speaking with the wrong accent, which was a sure sign that she needed to return home.

Oh, and Sherlock Holmes was the biggest ass in the world.

_

* * *

Irene and John stared at the curly-headed body lying under the rubble._

_It couldn't be Sherlock. It just couldn't._

"_HOLMES!" Irene suddenly roared, startling John and Scotland Yard as she whipped around and stalked away. "Where are you?"_

"_Jesus, Adler, you have a hell of a voice." the unmistakable voice said from behind her. She whipped around. Standing there, looking quite smug, was a scratched up but definitely alive Sherlock Holmes._

"_Bastard." she spat._

"_Hello to you too." he chuckled._

_She strode forwards and smacked him. He stared at her, confused. "What did I do?"_

"_You thought you could beat Moriarty without me." She said. "Well, you can't." With that she planted a kiss right on his lips and walked away, leaving a thoroughly confused Sherlock Holmes behind her._

* * *

Irene was sitting in her New York City apartment, the one overlooking Central Park, wondering what the hell had happened and why she was still thinking about it. She could still taste sociopathic consulting detective on her lips.

God, what was wrong with her?

There was a knock at her door and Irene tensed. She hadn't told anyone that she had come back. She was planning to lie low until she could return to England. The knock came again, more persistent this time, so Irene rose from her couch and opened the door.

A very wet consulting detective stood there.

"Let's go." he said shortly.

Irene grabbed her shoes.

Thunder rumbled and rain poured as Sherlock and Irene took a walk through Central Park. "Why are you so angry?" he asked.

Irene sighed. "Sherlock, you went after Moriarty. Without me."

"Yeah, 'cause the the last time I met him, it was because John was strapped to a bomb."

"So, what? You were trying to save me from a horrible fate? How gentlemanly. I don't need it. I know Moriarty. I could've helped. Maybe he would've been in the slammer by now, but nooo, you had to run off on your own, _just like always!"_

Her voice had risen with every words she spoke until she was practically shouting. Sherlock gripped her arms and, slowly, she calmed down.

"Sorry." she mumbled. "I guess my life is so fucked right now... I shouldn't talk, huh?" She stared at him, blinking slowly. "Why'd you come?"

"You never explained something to me."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"Why'd you kiss me?"

She froze. She didn't quite know how to respond. "Uhh..."

He looked at her pointedly. She grew more embarrassed. _Think, Adler, think!_

"I'll give you a hand." He pulled her towards him and their lips crashed together.

"There." he said, once they'd broken away. "Americans think rain kisses are romantic, right?"

"So do Brits." she said softly.

"In that case," and he kissed her again.

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**I'm not overly fond of this- it should be better. REVIEW!**


	5. Chapter 5

**REVIEW PLEASE!  
**

Sherlock and Irene agreed to keep their relationship secret. On the plane, they took bets on who would win the bet about whether they'd gotten together in New York. They also placed bets on a mysterious event Sherlock would not reveal to Irene, saying only, "That last night John was going to do something very important with his life and it never came to pass. Yet."

Irene guessed.

They got off the plane, hand in hand. Lestrade triumphantly received fifty pounds from his coworkers. Irene received twenty from Sherlock.

And then Sherlock was able to take it back because Irene didn't believe that John would propose to Sarah and she would say yes, but a laughing Sarah held up her left hand, where an engagement ring glittered.

* * *

For the next few months, cases were solved, though not as quickly. Sherlock and Irene tended to muse over cases at dinner, and once during sex, which meant it took a little longer for them to actually solve the case. Which was good, since Lestrade was running out of cold cases.

After one nerve-wracking night involving almost catching- and missing- the same serial killer twice in a row, Sherlock and Irene were just about spent.

Irene pushed back her mousy brown hair and bit her lip as she looked at Sherlock. "G'night, love." Her voice was tired-sounding, and more American than he'd heard her in a long time. In retrospect, Sherlock should have realized something was up.

Did he say anything about it now? Course not. He simply pulled her in for a long kiss. It seemed like ages, but she ended it, wrapped her arms around him, and murmured something unintelligible in his ear. Then she turned and walked away.

It wasn't until three hours later that he figured out what she'd said. By then, it was too late.

Irene Adler had disappeared.

* * *

Sherlock woke up feeling as though something were missing. It was only when he realized that there was no message from Irene on his voicemail- the woman really hated texting- that he registered the fact that she was gone.

Lestrade looked up as Sherlock entered. "Holmes? Where's Adler?"

"Not here." There was shock in the investigator's eyes, and also dismay. "She left last night. I don't know where she went."

"Holmes?" Sally entered the room. "Where's the American?"

"Gone." Sherlock pushed past the other woman. He strode down the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"To Adler's apartment, where else?"

* * *

John joined him at the apartment. Inside, Sherlock felt comforted. His best friend was here with him to investigate Irene's case.

The apartment was clean. No strange looking mail, no traces of blood, nothing unusual.

On his way out, however, Sherlock found a note, written in Irene's curly writing.

_Sherlock, I knew you would show up at my apartment. How? I know you. I left this here so you would know I've left for a little while. Shit fell and it has to do with Moriarty. Don't even think about following me. This problem's personal and I don't need anyone else to get dragged into this. Good luck to John and Sarah- they'll need it. I'll let you know if I need help. Trust me. Love you. Irene._

Sherlock stared at the note for a moment longer before folding it up and sticking it in his coat.

As he did, his fingers brushed another piece of paper. Confused, he pulled it out.

_Sherlock, Moriarty went off and did some shit. Gotta go after him. Sorry. High school's been great. Love, Irene._

It was the same curly handwriting.

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** This is the last chapter. No, seriously. You'll get the solution to this problem in a while, a different fic. Please be patient. It'll come. As of this moment, I put down this plotline for a one-shot collection. Look for it soon. It'll be called "Rage and Love." There'll be a reference to this story in it, but... don't trust it. The real solution will hit this June.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I promised part 6 in June, and here I am! EXCEPT... there's a twist.**

**THIS IS THE END.**

**I repeat. THIS IS THE END.**

**Hold your horses. This is quite short, I know, and doesn't resolve any problems.**

**But I didn't say I would, did I?**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had forgotten what it felt like to be in love.

It had been one year since Irene Adler had left him in London to track down Moriarty. The first month had been spent brooding, playing the violin. Later, however, he got up, dusted himself off, and moved on, eventually forgetting about her. The woman. The dancing woman, the one who he'd trusted, the one who he'dd followed to America, the one he'd solved cases with for six months, who always had a smile in her eyes, who's laugh brightened his day. The one who he'd found himself falling for.

Moriarty's little sister.

Irene Adler.

Her phone number he kept. It was the only thing he did not forget, the one number he kept in his phone and never touched. Never called, never texted. Just left.

It was one year to the day that Irene left him behind and Sherlock had moved on.

And then she returned to his life.

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**HAHAHAHAHA! I'm EVIL! I may or may not continue with another fic *evil stare* but this is all you're getting out of ME for a while. So, so long, farewell, and read my Doctor Who fic, entitled, "Madman with a Box and a Psychic!"** **AND DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW.**


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